


No Deferred Payments

by WildwingSuz



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildwingSuz/pseuds/WildwingSuz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While undercover Mulder and Scully work through their complicated relationship along with a baffling case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Deferred Payments

**Author's Note:**

> I began this in 2008 after having an odd dream about a woman getting shot in a rural gift shop that I once visited while on vacation near Lexington, KY. That somehow tied in with a sign I saw in a small general store somewhere out West when we were driving from MI to Arizona years ago which said “no deferred payments” which stayed with me over the years since, it was so unusual. As the years went by I kept opening this story and trying to work on it, but it wasn’t until 2012 that I finally figured out where I wanted it to go and managed to write the final third in less than a couple of weeks.  
> Smuggler’s Cave, KY, is fictional but loosely based on Horse Cave which I have visited, and done the easy cave tour there. The resort that Mulder and Scully stay at is my memory of Boyne Mountain in northern Michigan; I have described that gorgeous room as best as I can recall it. Last but never least Dinosaur World is a real place as I understand it, though I ran with Alia’s hysterically funny description of driving by it on the freeway and made it up from there. I had to let M&S have some fun, you know?
> 
> Spoilers: The whole show up to Season 7, takes place shortly after The Amazing Maleeni.
> 
> Thanks to Alia and Cory, who helped tons with early drafts. I’ll never forget all your help.  
> Also many thanks to beta readers Megan and Melissa for catching my goofy mistakes.   
> I truly appreciate your time in working on this.

No Deferred Payments  
Rated R  
By Suzanne L Feld

 

Prologue  
The vaguely pretty young tour guide stopped them at the bottom of a rickety-looking flight of stairs that led up to a dark opening below the stone overhang above them. “Now, as I said back in the museum, this isn't a dangerous tour but you do need to follow all the safety procedures that I outline,” she said in a soft, mildly Southern accent, pushing back her pale pink hard hat with one hand and checking the equipment attached to her belt with the other. Her movements were almost automatic; it was clear to the small group around her that this was all second nature, and it comforted most of them. “First, under no circumstances wander away from the group or go off the boardwalk or trail. Smuggler's Cave is part of the Mammoth Cave system and ain’t been fully mapped, so Heaven only knows where ya'll end up if ya’ll get lost.”

A petite redhead in a badly clashing orange hard hat in the back piped up, “Can't they send out search and rescue dogs to find you if you get lost?”

The guide nodded, her long, lank blonde ponytail bobbing up and down behind her. “Yeah but the question is, will they find you before or after you die of dehydration? Though a subterranean river runs through most of the cave from the lake,” she waved a hand at the wide blue lake to their right, “it goes underground just past where our tour ends and doesn't reappear for miles. Ya’ll could wander for weeks, if ya’ll lived that long, without seeing daylight or water.”

The other woman seemed cowed and now pressed against her taller, dark-haired male companion who had his arm around her shoulders. 

“Again, so long as ya’ll follow the safety procedures I’ve outlined this tour is not at all dangerous although it is considered strenuous,” the guide reiterated. “Insurance requires the hard hats, but the worst that should fall on you is drops of water.”

She glanced around the group, making sure everyone was listening. “Next, if ya’ll get winded or out of breath, please do not hesitate to ask me to slow down or stop for a bit. We’ll be doing some climbing up and down and if y’all aren’t in extremely good shape, it can push ya’ll past your limits. And for those who don't find the hike difficult, please don't complain if we have to stop. The reason that there is no time limit on this tour is so that we can go at the easiest pace for the group.”

Another glance around, another unconscious check of hardhat and equipment. “All right then, let's go. It's fifty stairs up to the lip, then a hundred and forty seven to the bottom on a thirty-degree slope with three landings, so pace yourself accordingly.”

She swept her eyes over the group one more time, then turned and began to climb. One by one, the group of assorted-experience spelunkers followed her up and then down into the depths of Smuggler's Cave in Smuggler's Cove, Kentucky.

I  
September 2000  
“I am dead, Mulder. Completely, utterly dead.”

His reply was an agreeing mumble of sorts then, louder, “When I get the strength I'm going to get in that hot tub. Any minute now."

They were sprawled a foot or so apart sideways atop the embroidered white coverlet of a huge king-sized four-poster bed: Scully on her stomach, he on his back with arms thrown above his head. The bed was made of a light but strong-looking wood—cedar or pine, she thought—and draped with gauzy white material that was tied back against the high posts. The room was equally light and airy, with pale green walls, a high cathedral ceiling and large set of bay windows flanked with sheer white curtains and containing a reading nook complete with cushions. A few feet from the end of the bed was a pale jade-and-white tile-surrounded fireplace, and in the corner across from it was a dark green four-person Jacuzzi surrounded by the same tile for two feet or so in every direction. Nearby was a small blonde wood desk with two chairs, equally useful for working or eating. On the other wall, visible from the bed, table, and hot tub, was a light wood cabinet which held a large-screen TV and wet bar, all of which Mulder was eying from his prone position. “Nicest room we've ever stayed in on the Bureau's dime, eh, Scully.”

She managed to turn her head to gaze at him through a curtain of red strands. Her hair, usually sprayed into a stylish multilayered bob, was stringy with sweat and straggled frizzily around her face. “Yes, but the only part of it I'm interested in right now is that tub. Flip you for first soak.”

“We don't have to take turns. It'll fit both of us comfortably.”

The one eyebrow he could see lifted. “Did you bring your suit?”

“I'm supposed to be on vacation, of course I did. I'm assuming you brought yours?”

“I always do, not that most of the places we stay in have pools or hot tubs.” Finally she made to push herself back and stand up. “Ugh. I have muscles hurting that I didn't know I had. And that’s saying a lot coming from a doctor.”

He put a hand out, wordlessly asking for help up, and Scully grasped it, not really doing any helping as he sat up on his own and gave her hand a squeeze. “I'm glad we did the second, advanced tour, but maybe we should have waited a day.”

“Yeah, but at least now we know for certain that Lucy's still here,” Scully said, dropping his hand and going over to where their suitcases were side-by-side on the blonde wood dresser near the windows. Mulder had been getting more and more physical with her over the last few months and she wasn't quite sure what to do about it, and this assignment couldn't have come at a worse—or better, depending—time as far as that was concerned. When they'd gone undercover in Arcadia she'd been pretty pissed off at him thanks to Diana Fowley so it hadn't been difficult to blow off his innuendos, but this was different. They were getting along really well after the successful Maleeni case and Scully found her mind going to places that she really didn't want it to go more and more often. “At least we didn't have to take any more tours before we found the girl.”

“There is that,” Mulder agreed, passing behind her and disappearing into the bathroom. Scully opened her mouth, and then shut it. She wasn't changing out here, and he'd better not take too long.

Luckily for him, he didn't. She found her one-piece swimsuit and a large shirt she’d brought to use as a cover-up, and took them into the bathroom after he exited. There she changed and put on the oversized men's short-sleeved denim shirt—which had once belonged to her brother Bill—and folded her dirty, sweaty clothes with her underthings inside. The moment she left the bathroom the first thing she saw was Mulder sprawled in the filling hot tub and the sight stopped her in her tracks momentarily. He was staring the opposite way, probably at the TV. Does he really have no idea of what he looks like? she thought, gazing at what seemed like yards of long bare limbs and a tight, lean, muscular masculine torso interrupted only by a dark blue trunk-type bathing suit. Well, at least it's not that red Speedo I've heard about—that would be it for me. I may not act like it much any more but I am a healthy, red-blooded woman with a normal libido. 

“What're you waiting for, Scully, the tub's almost full,” he turned and called over the sound of the rushing water, giving her a lazy half-smile that caused her heart to do things that she really didn't want it to do. “Although I don't think you're going to take up much space. What, no eensy-weensy string bikini?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, not deigning to reply to his last sally as she approached and took her shirt off, tossing it onto the bed with her dirty clothes. Dipping a hand in the water, she found it hot but not unbearably so and stepped over the edge into the tub, holding onto the bar bolted to the wall for just that purpose. “You know, my being small isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” she said as she carefully lowered herself to the seat on his left, nearly against the spigot, threading her legs beneath his. “At least I don't take up three-quarters of a four-person hot tub.”

“Four people who are really good friends, maybe.” He grinned at her lazily and then put his head back against the rim of the tub. “I'm too tired to bicker, or even trade innuendos,” he said to the ceiling as he moved his legs over so that she had more room. “And you know that means I'm really tired.”

“No kidding,” Scully huffed, sliding off the seat into the open middle section and sinking down to her chin. The nicest thing about this new short, layered haircut was that she didn't have to put her hair up in a situation like this when she didn't want to get it wet, but the bad thing was that it was too short to put up in a ponytail when she'd sweated her way through two strenuous cave tours today. “Oh, this is just the thing,” she said, closing her eyes and groaning as the hot water soaked into her tense neck and shoulders. 

“Better turn the water off or we're going to overflow.”

Scully opened one eye to glare at him, but he was still gazing at the ceiling. And she was closer to the controls so she capitulated without argument and sat up again on the hard plastic seat to shut off the running water, bracing her legs beneath his against the opposite seat. Without warning him, she hit the button to start the jets and suppressed her amusement when a strong stream of water hit his back. He hadn’t had his legs braced on the opposite side, however, so he slid off the seat and into the open area in the middle of the tub with a yelp. Unfortunately, he landed on her legs and pulled her down with him. Luckily for both of them, the tub wasn't very deep so neither’s head went beneath the water. “Ow, ow, ow, Mulder, get off!” she yelled as his weight landed squarely across her outstretched legs. 

“I'm trying, I'm trying!” he yelled back, turning to the side so that his dark-covered ass was almost in her face, scrambling to reach the side of the tub and pull himself up. 

Scully managed to twist her legs to the other side as his weight receded, pulling herself back into her seat. “You are such a klutz, Mulder!”

“Are you all right?” he turned and asked as she slipped out from beneath him and he managed to re-seat himself. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No, I'm fine, you startled me more than anything,” she said, bracing her legs against the seat across from her again to hold her in place. There were strong jets at the back of each seat at lower-back level that made it difficult to stay in place. “I didn't know these jets were so powerful when I turned it on.”

He grinned over at her, droplets of water sparkling on his face and in his spiky hair. “What, you don't want to have me fall all over you?”

She gave him The Look. “You and your big feet do enough of that without my help, Mulder,” she said drily, turning away to glance over her shoulder to see what he'd been looking at. “Besides, I thought you were too tired for innuendos.” Sure enough, the TV was on and showing an old black and white movie, something that had a very young Cary Grant in old-fashioned flying clothes arguing with a spirited blonde she didn't recognize. “What's this?”

“Only Angels Have Wings, 1939,” he said. “I'm not usually that into old movies, but this is a good one. Was one of my dad's favorites. It's almost over, though.”

“Good thing, too, because I'm going to bed soon,” she said, laying her head back against the tub rim. 

“Aw, come on, Scully, it's barely six o'clock!” he protested. “It's not like we've got separate rooms and I can go watch TV somewhere else.”

“Is it really that early?” she yawned. “Feels a lot later. I am kind of hungry; guess we could order room service.”

“Now you're talkin',” he drawled, eyes still on the TV though the side of his mouth quirked. “Oh, by the way, I liked your ditzy act around that tour guide and the way you grabbed my arm like I was the big, strong male who would protect you.”

It was a good thing that the tub was surrounded by tile, because carpet would have been ruined by the splashing water-fight that promptly ensued.

II

Mulder sprawled on the bed across from his partner, reaching for a slice of quesadilla. “Didn't occur to me if we ordered all appetizers we wouldn't get plates,” he said as he leaned over the tray to take a bite.

Scully shrugged, also leaning over so that they were almost forehead-to-forehead as she cut into a crab cake on the platter with a fork and lifted the bite to her mouth. She was sitting cross-legged, dressed in dark hunter-green satin pajamas and a knee-length hotel robe that hung open, her freshly-showered damp hair hanging loosely around her face. To her left the TV was babbling away, partway through the movie “Independence Day”; it wasn't one of her favorites, but it was keeping Mulder entertained and that was most important at this point. “You called room service so don't grumble at me.” She flicked her eyes upward to find that he was only an inch or so away, eyes turned toward the TV as he chewed—thankfully with his mouth closed. He was in a comfortable-looking faded grey t-shirt and black sweatpants, no socks on the big bare feet that hung over the end of the bed.

He turned to look at her, his nose almost brushing hers before she leaned away. “Who's grumbling?” he said with a crooked smile, then looked back down at the assortment of dishes on the large tray between them. “Have you tried the calamari yet?” 

But instead of dipping into another appetizer, he laid back and stretched across the bed, showing an expanse of flat belly between the top of his sweatpants and where the grey t-shirt rode up. When he rolled back towards the appetizer tray he tugged the shirt back down on one side, but left the other ridden up above his ribs showing a good three-four inches of skin. Her eyes were glued to the line of dark hair that ran down the middle of the exposed area.

Good god, she thought as she watched him, has he no idea whatsoever of how handsome he is? Or does he think I'm a sexless old maid to not be affected? This was far from the first time they'd been sequestered in a hotel room together, but for some reason this instance was really getting to her. She finished the crab cake but her appetite was gone. “No, I'm about done,” she said, dabbing at her lips with a linen napkin and then tossing it on the side of the tray. Straightening her legs, she moved to rest her back against one of the posts at the foot of the bed with one leg stretched out across the bedspread parallel with the tray and the other foot resting on the wide wooden side bar that held the box spring.

“Damn, Scully, you don't eat enough to keep a mouse alive,” Mulder said as he lifted a forkful of calamari to his mouth, eyes still on the TV. “Sometimes I have no idea how you manage to keep going on how little you eat sometimes. Of course you make up—”

“Don't say it,” she snapped. Jesus, he was really getting to her this evening. “I know, I'm not very big, but that's got nothing to do with how much I do or don't eat.”

He stared over at her with wide hazel eyes, movie and forkful of dangling breaded octopus tentacle rings and caramelized onions forgotten. “That wasn't what I was going to say. You all right, Scully?”

“Yeah, fine, just tired,” she sighed, leaning her head back against the post and closing her eyes. If she looked at him much longer she'd leap right over the tray at him and embarrass them both. If she hadn't known better she'd have suspected that her constant low state of arousal during this trip was due to her period getting ready to start, but that was almost a week past so that wasn't it. Since when had she become so damn sexually attracted to her—in his words—crackpot, albeit brilliant, partner?

She felt the bed dip, then a gentle touch on her shoulder and jerked forward in reaction, her eyes flying open. “Hold still, Scully, let me help relax you,” he said from behind her, his big warm hands sliding over her collarbones and then back over her shoulderblades, kneading gently. “Don't worry, I didn't bring my bondage gear this time.”

Snorting laughter, she leaned forward a little and let him rub her neck and shoulders. “If you ever do bring it on a case, Mulder, you're going to find yourself cuffed to a bed and al-l-l-l-l alone,” she drawled, letting her head fall forward, eyes closing, and finding herself relaxing under his warm hands whether or not she wanted to. Her words brought about a sense of déjà vu though it passed quickly as she concentrated on enjoying what he was doing. “Keep in mind that I have a set of handcuffs, too.”

“Ooh, kin-kay,” he said with laughter clear in his voice, kneading gently but firmly at the back of her neck with his thumbs, the rest of his warm fingers draped over the wide trapezius muscles on either side of her neck. “I never mess around with a woman who can kick my ass unless I get permission first so you're safe with me, Scully.”

“Smart man,” she murmured as he massaged outward towards her shoulders. He used his palms as well as his fingers, digging in just to the point of being uncomfortable but not actually hurting her, which really did loosen up her tense muscles. “Where'd you learn to do this, Mulder? You're pretty good at massage.”

“I've had a few and paid attention, mostly after sports injuries,” he said, cupping her shoulders on each side and rotating gently. Then he gave one last rub all along her shoulders and up her neck, ending with a light tug on the ends of her hair in the back. “Don't get much chance to practice, though. There you go, that should help.”

She opened her eyes and raised her head to see him climbing on the bed in his previous spot, only now sitting cross-legged like she had been. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't help the smile she gave him. “Thanks, it does. I think a good night's sleep is in order, too. If you don't mind turning down the TV, you don't have to turn it off. I'm tired enough to sleep through almost anything at this point.”

They cleaned off the bed, Mulder opting to take the wide black plastic tray over to the small table near the foot of the bed to finish the appetizers as Scully threw the covers back and removed all but one of the half-dozen or so fluffy pillows from her side of the bed. Tossing her white terrycloth robe over the wide bar at the foot she yawned, stretched, turned off her bedside lamp, and crawled into the large, soft bed. “G'night, Mulder, see you tomorrow,” she murmured, already dozing even before she was completely settled in.

“Goodnight, Scully, sleep well.”

III

Mulder ate mechanically, his eyes wandering back and forth between the TV and the splash of bright red hair on the white pillow on the bed. He loved this movie, but getting to watch Scully sleep was even better. Add to that the six different appetizers from the resort hotel's excellent restaurant—ordered without plates, which had worked well—knowing there was a basketball hoop in the courtyard downstairs, and you had a recipe for Mulder Heaven.

He snorted laughter to himself, popping the last coconut shrimp into his mouth. No matter how he turned it over in his mind, he was still surprised that they'd gotten this assignment after he'd brought it to Skinner's attention; normally this type of hate crime was outside their purview since there didn't appear to be anything odd or unusual about it. As best the previous investigators could guess, the young tour guide they'd met today, Lucy Burley, appeared to be setting up the local Amish colony to be picked off one by one by person or persons unknown. The two dozen or so families of the pacifist religious sect had moved into this area only in the last two years, and had appeared to be welcomed until the deaths began happening.

They didn't have the case files in the room with them, knowing that if anyone—most likely the maids or other hotel staff—found any type of law enforcement items their cover would be blown; they had only their ID folders and kept them hidden on their persons at all times outside the room. Their guns and all paperwork on the case were locked in a hidden compartment of their car, a specialized Jeep Cherokee in which they'd driven from DC. If necessary they could get to it quickly enough while in the car, and he was already planning to find an out-of-the-way spot some distance from here where they could sit and study the files again.

But in the meantime he had at least a week—maybe longer if it took that to crack the case—with Scully pretending to be married... again. Apparently they'd done such good undercover work on the Falls of Arcadia case last spring that they were being “rewarded” with this one. The powers-that-be had no idea just how much they were rewarding him, if not her, he thought with a grin.

Although it was barely ten o'clock, Mulder found himself yawning over the last few minutes of the movie even though it was his favorite part and turned off the TV then went to brush his teeth, leaving the mostly-empty room service tray outside the front door. For once he was tired enough that he wouldn't need to watch TV until he eventually dozed off, and it was nice for a change to just crawl into the soft, warm bed and turn off the light. Scully was out so deeply that she hadn't moved in the last hour, and Mulder dared to scoot close enough that he could feel her body heat beneath the blankets. Not close enough to get smacked if she woke up and caught him, but enough that even he could pretend they were there together in this big soft bed because they wanted to, not because there was no couch in the room.

IV

She woke to sunlight in her face and when she tried to roll over to get away from it, she bumped into something large and warm and unyielding—and snapped immediately wide-awake when she realized what it was. Luckily Mulder was sprawled on his stomach with his face turned away and her jostling hadn't awakened him. He was nearly in the middle of the huge bed and she near the edge, but somehow that didn't surprise her. This wasn't the first time they'd had to share a bed, and he'd always ended up in the middle of it. It could be worse; at least he wasn't a covers hog, she thought as she quietly got up and padded to the bathroom.

Originally they had agreed that he would sleep on the floor since the room didn't have a couch, but once she saw how large the bed was Scully couldn't bring herself to reinforce the original deal. Add in the amount of exercise they'd done the day before and she was glad she hadn't because it would have been cruelty, pure and simple, to make anyone sleep on the floor after a day like that. So far he'd honored the agreement other than how close he was when she woke up, and she supposed she couldn't get angry at him for something he did while asleep.

The room had a coffeemaker and she quietly filled it, then pulled out her laptop and set it up on the small table. Should anyone ask she was a computer technician, which would explain why she'd have a laptop with her on vacation, although they left it locked in her suitcase when they weren't in the room to avoid having it stolen or messed with. Mueller and Sally Fox were, as far as anyone here knew, a honeymooning couple from Virginia who enjoyed spelunking and were exploring the Mammoth Cave system's more out-of-the-way edges.

Thinking of their aliases, Scully was a bit smug at having picked them this time. At least she'd given them names they could remember and were close to their real ones, and she'd been unable to resist yanking his chain by using his much-hated first name as their surname. This way if they forgot and called each other by their real names it probably wouldn't even be noticed.

As she got up to get her coffee she saw that it was almost seven a.m. by the unset alarm clock on the nightstand and considered waking Mulder so they could get a nice early start to the day. On the other hand it wouldn't hurt to enjoy the peace and quiet just a little bit longer, she thought to herself with an unconscious little smile. The man could be a pocket tornado, always moving, talking, doing something—sometimes he made her tired just watching him.

She lost track of time working on the field report and it seemed like only minutes later before she looked up to see Mulder rolling over onto his back, stretching and kicking the comforter off. As he did, the sheet pulled tight across his body and her eyes widened—the tight sheet clearly showed that he had a morning erection, which was perfectly normal for a healthy man of his age, but she certainly hadn't seen one in a long time and never her partner's this clearly. She tore her eyes away and brought her eyebrows down to their normal position as he slowly sat up, yawning. “Izzat coffee I smell?” he mumbled groggily, tossing the sheet aside and standing up. Thank God, she thought, that he was still wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt from the night before. She didn't dare look at him or reply, just pointed to the coffeemaker on the sink outside the bathroom and went back to her typing. Luckily she'd been right in the middle of a sentence that she was able to finish so if he looked over at the laptop screen as he went past, he wouldn't see the line of gibberish that was presently in her mind.

He went and got the newspaper from just outside the door and as he walked back to the bed with paper and coffee, she saw no further sign of tumescence and breathed out a silent sigh of relief. Most of the time when they were cloistered like this she was able to treat Mulder like a brother—and she had a lot of practice with brothers, heaven knew--but the last few days had become something of a trial in that area. Why, she wasn't sure, but if nothing else she suspected that watching the play of his muscles as he climbed up and down the rough trails and over boulders in the caves was making her more aware of him as a man than usual. And now knowing pretty much exactly what he had in that area wasn't helping matters one tiny—or large, as the case may be—bit.

Scully was staring unseeingly at the laptop screen when she suddenly became aware of a dull thumping noise and looked up to see Mulder on his knees near the top of the bed, hands on the heavy peeled-log crossbar that made up the headboard, rocking it back and forth so that it thumped the wall every few seconds. She felt her mouth fall open even as it hit her what he was doing and she bit back a yelp of outrage with an effort. They were supposed to be on their honeymoon, but what was it going to matter if all this accomplished was annoying the people in the next room?

She got up and stomped over to the side of the bed he was on, feeling her face growing warm. “Mulder, what in the hell do you think you're doing?” she snapped at him, hands on hips, keeping her voice low. “Nothing like waking up the neighbors for no real reason.” Just then she heard faint feminine laughter from the other side of the wall, and he thumped the bed against the wall faster a few times and then stopped, rolling over to sit on the edge with a grin up at her as she moved back a few steps, still glaring.

“When I went out to get the paper I saw the maid's cart next door,” he said equally low, smiling as he picked up his steaming coffee cup from the bedside table, which she saw he'd moved away from the bed. “Just adding to our cover, Scully, that's all. And I put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door last night before I went to bed, so they won't be bothering us until we leave the room.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” she muttered under her breath. She'd let this one go, but if he started moaning and making other noises she felt she would be perfectly justified in gagging him with one of the hotel bathrobe ties—the maids could think it was sex play when they heard his muffled cries for all she cared. She went back to the desk, noting that he was spreading the paper out on the bed and reaching for the remote. Anything to keep him occupied, she thought as the TV went on.

Some time later he stood and stretched, turning off the TV, and she deliberately kept her eyes averted. “Feel like going for a run or shooting some hoops, Scully?” he asked. “We could grab some breakfast while we're out.”

“No thanks, I had enough exercise yesterday. I'll shower while you're gone and we can get something to eat when we leave for the day.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him shrug, then go to the dresser behind her. A few minutes later he sat on the edge of the bed and put on shoes and socks, then bounced to his feet. “Should I take my key, or will you be here?”

She was starting to regret turning down his offer of jogging as it now sounded good despite the previous day's exercise, but on the other hand she needed a bit more alone time after coming up on three days with him without a break. “I'd take it in case I'm in the shower,” she said, glancing over at him. When had he changed into shorts? she wondered. While he was standing behind her at the dresser, or had he gone into the bathroom without her noticing?

“'Kay, back in a bit.”

She sat back in the chair as the door closed behind him, leaning her head back as far as it would go and feeling her hair brush the back of her shoulders, letting her arms hang straight down at her sides. Thank goodness the shower had a detachable hand-held massager, because she needed the kind of relief that only the vibrator she hadn't dared to pack could give her. 

V

As soon as he closed the bathroom door he could smell it. Just because the scent of an aroused woman wasn't something he'd smelled in years didn't mean that he couldn't remember what it was. And there was only one woman whose scent this could be, as if he didn't recognize it to begin with: Scully.

She must have taken care of herself while I was out, he realized, feeling his body go to red alert at the thought. This is the smell of Scully aroused, and it couldn't have been that long ago—probably right before I got back; I wasn't gone as long as I thought I'd be. Jesus Christ. Without even thinking about it he found himself stroking his erection through two thin layers of cotton, then realized what he was doing. She could hear me if I jack off in the shower—I can be loud and know it. I don’t care if anyone can hear me at home and I always make sure she's asleep if we have connecting rooms. No, better not.

Easier said than done. Even thinking about some of their most gross and disgusting cases didn't seem to affect his erection, which stayed steel-strong and ready for action all through his shower and getting dried off and dressed in clean boxer-briefs and jeans afterward. As he was shaving, trying to get close enough to the mirror over the large vanity without bumping his woody up against the sink, it dawned on him that perhaps he should have taken care of himself in the shower—now, it was impossible that she wouldn't either hear him or suspect what was going on if he was in the bathroom much longer. And he had a raging hard-on that simply would not go down even though he could no longer smell her in the misty air.

He rinsed his face and while reaching for the aftershave, Scully knocked on the door. “Come on, Mulder, I'm starving. You're taking longer than I usually do including makeup. You know, you could get away with not shaving for a day or two since we're away from the office. Not like it makes any difference to me.”

Glancing around almost wildly, his eyes fell on the toilet and inspiration struck. “I, uh, I may be a while, Scully,” he called back, leaning his hip against the sink. “I think that calamari disagreed with me. Why don't you go on ahead and I'll meet you in the restaurant in the lobby?”

A beat. “Do you need anything, Mulder? I've got Pepto-Bismol tablets in my travel kit. It's right there on the sink.” He was relieved that she got it without him having to come right out and say it.

“No, I'll be okay, just give me a few.”

“All right. Don't hesitate to take the Pepto if you need it, and please try not to be too long. We've got a long day ahead of us.”

He groaned but didn't reply, wondering what she had planned for them. Going to the closed door, he leaned his head against the wood and listened as she moved around the room, then heard the 'snick' of the outer door closing. With a sigh of relief he reached over and grabbed a handful of tissues from the dispenser on the back of the toilet tank, then leaned against the door with his ear against the wood again. He knew he wouldn't be able to relax enough to finish if he thought she could come back and overhear. While standing up wasn't the safest or most comfortable way to go, it beat having her walk in and hear him moaning in here. Being the doctor she was, she'd probably think he was laying on the floor hurt and barge right in—

He unzipped his jeans and let the fantasy run from there, imagining her coming in and finding him in the shower, water running, touching himself—but instead of being upset or embarrassed, he met her eyes with longing and put one hand out to her. Scully, her face a soft and becoming shade of pink, slowly undresses, her eyes on him as he fondles himself, and opens the glass shower door, reaching for him—

That was all it took. Biting his lower lip, trying to let no sound out but not sure he succeeded as he finished, Mulder then let himself relax against the door for a moment, holding the tissues over his rapidly deflating penis and gasping for breath, heart pounding so loud that he couldn’t hear a thing over its drumming beat for a time. He wasn't used to holding back like that, and hoped he hadn't actually bitten into his lip. He tossed the wad of tissues into the toilet then pulled up his jeans as he went to the mirror, seeing the flush of color high on his cheekbones but no split lip. Resting both hands on the vanity he took a few deep breaths staring down into the white porcelain sink, then ran cold water into a motel glass and took a long drink. Jesus, that set a land speed record—I can only hope if I ever do manage to get her into bed that I last longer than that!

Snorting laughter at his thoughts he set the glass down, flushed the toilet, and opened the bathroom door, enjoying the rush of cool air on his bare chest and shoulders after the bathroom's stuffiness. The other room was still empty, as he'd expected, and even though he was a bit embarrassed that Scully would think he was suffering from diarrhea, it certainly beat the truth.

VI

“There you are—hope you don't mind that I started without you, but I was really hungry,” Scully said as he sat down across the table from her and cutting off another wedge of blueberry pancake. “You all right?”

Mulder had a funny look on his face, one she couldn't place. “Yeah, I'm fine now. Thanks,” he said, indicating the cup of steaming coffee that sat in front of him. The waitress came over and he ordered the same as she was having, adding a side of bacon and orange juice. “So, what's on the agenda for today?”

“First I think we should take the car somewhere remote and go over the case files again,” she said in a low voice, glancing around to make sure that no one was within earshot. 

“Remote?”

“You know, like an out-of-the-way place where we can talk freely,” she said, keeping her tone down. “We can ask the staff here to recommend somewhere private, tell them that we want to have lunch in a secluded spot—you know, nudge nudge wink wink. You're good at that kind of innuendo.”

To her surprise he didn't toss off a suggestive remark or give her the leer she was braced for. Instead he just looked down at his half-empty cup and mumbled something that sounded agreeable.

Scully was beginning to suspect that there was something more wrong with her partner than a spate of diarrhea from bad seafood. As he ate she thought about it, sipping her coffee and staring into space. Last night he'd been his usual exuberant, innuendo-spouting self but ever since he'd gotten back from his run this morning he'd been hesitant and morose. Apparently something had happened while he was gone, but what? They had barely begun this case; she hadn't had time to pick apart a single one of his crazy theories, not that that ever stopped him or even slowed him down for long. 

Perhaps I should just ask him, she thought. But on the other hand, do I really want to know? 

Before she could formulate an answer for that mental question he was waving the waitress over for the check. She raised her eyebrows slightly at the pile of empty dishes on the table but didn't remark on the fact that he'd eaten his entire breakfast as well as the few bites of pancake that she hadn't finished. Whatever was wrong with him certainly hadn't affected his appetite, but then not much did.

On the way back to the room they stopped at the front desk and Mulder enquired about a remote picnic spot for lunch; Scully busied herself with looking through a nearby rack of brochures for local attractions. She heard both Mulder and the male clerk laughing, and when he walked over to join her he slung an arm around her shoulder and bent his head to hers. “He now thinks we're the horniest newlyweds on the planet,” he murmured in her ear, brushing his nose against her hair and causing a shiver to run down her spine that she did her best to hide from him. He reached over and grabbed several brightly-colored brochures from the rack apparently at random. “Word has gotten out among the staff about this morning.”

“What do you mean?” she said, tense with the way he was touching her.

“My, er, performance with the bed this morning,” he clarified, dropping his arm and moving away slightly as she handed him a brochure at random as if showing him something she was interested in. If he'd said in bed she probably wouldn't have been able to help popping him one, she thought, since she didn't have her weapon. “We've got a reputation to maintain now, Mrs. Fox.”

She groaned, low, and resisted the urge to glare up at him. “Thanks, Mueller,” she ground out. “Did you get any information on a place we can go over the files without anyone seeing us?” Which is what you were supposed to be doing, she thought, instead of gloating over your supposed nympho wife with the creepy front desk clerk.

“Sure did. 'Kentucky Down Under'? Did you really want to see this?” he asked, waving the brightly-colored brochure she'd handed him under her nose, which she swatted away with a glare up at him.

“No! Now, damn it, what did you find out?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice low.

“Ooh, trouble in paradise!” he grinned down at her and then glanced over her head. His grin widened, then he added the brochure to the stack in his other hand and with the empty hand at the small of her back, drew her towards the hallway that led to their room. As they headed for it he told her that there was a state park not far from the resort that not only had remote hiking trails and lots of picnic areas, it also featured a large network of caves that would help their cover story of being amateur spelunkers. “We'll just put the case files in a backpack and walk a ways in until we find a nice remote spot to sit and talk.”

She groaned, but didn't argue as they went into their room. Somehow simple trips to the forest with him always ended up being more than they bargained for, but this was what she'd requested and couldn't reasonably complain. Both changed into hiking boots, Scully swapping her khaki shorts for jeans and Mulder grabbing his black leather backpack before they left. 

As he closed the door behind them a young, uniformed maid was walking by with a stack of snow-white linens and when she saw them coming out of the room she giggled and hid her reddening face, all but skipping down the hall away from them.

Scully glared at Mulder and he grinned, and was glad that he obviously knew better than to say a word as they headed out to the car.

VII

It was a twenty-minute drive to the park and shortly after they got on the freeway Scully climbed into the back and got the case files out from the hidden compartment beneath the seat so they could go over the basics on the ride. It was all Mulder could do to keep his eyes on the road and not on her denim-covered ass as it wiggled back and forth over the front bench seat.

When she was again buckled in she opened the first folder. “Our suspect is Lucy—and that is her first name, not Lucille—Tanya Burley, aged twenty, born and raised in Smuggler's Cove,” she read out loud. “Suspected of being, at the very least, a spotter for hate crime murderers and working with at least one, maybe more, others. She has alibis for the murders but she does appear to be the link to all of them.”

He nodded, adding from memory, “The murders began shortly after the Amish moved here; they appeared to be welcomed but once they began to trade with the town they began to get picked off. Men, women, children, teenagers, it hasn't mattered. Everyone in their community appears to be fair game.”

“Ten deaths in fewer than two years,” she added. “That's a lot. I'm surprised they didn't bring in someone before this.”

“They did. The local police called the Lexington field office but they didn't find a thing in their original investigation and closed it. It wasn't until I got the file and was able to put the pieces together regarding Lucy Burley that I reopened it.”

“Should I even ask how you got it?”

He flashed her a grin before looking back at the road. “I have friends in low places,” he said smugly, knowing she wouldn't push it. 

“So why is this an X-File, Mulder? Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“Because I don't think Lucy Burley is a spotter at all. I think she's cursed or something, and that's what's causing the Amish who deal with her to die.”

She heaved a sigh and he knew what she was thinking as accurately as if he was psychic: here we go again. “And why is that?”

“Because this all began when she started working at the Smuggler's Cove gift shop right out of high school two years ago,” he said. “She also has a booth at the open-air flea-slash-farmer’s market in the summer selling herbs and vegetables that she grows in her garden. That's only open on weekends so we'll check it out tomorrow.”

“So you think this girl is cursed with what? A death wish for the Amish?”

“Something like that,” he admitted. Then he did a double take, looking up into the mirrors and saying excitedly, “Scully, did you see that? There was a giant dinosaur right by the side of the freeway!”

“Dinosaur?” She was staring at him like he'd lost his mind, which he was certain she thought he had.

“Yeah, looked like a T-Rex next to a billboard back there. You didn't see it?”

She closed the file and narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you trying to distract me from arguing your as-usual batshit-strange theory?”

“No, I mean it, I really saw it! Hang on.” He swerved across two lanes, ignoring her profane exclamation, and zipped down an exit ramp then turned left and left again at the next intersection past the freeway overpass.

“Mulder, where in the hell are you going?”

“To show you I'm not crazy! There was a dinosaur back there!”

“A real live one, you mean?”

“What? No, a statue or something. Maybe a blow-up doll for a dealership opening or something, I don't know. I couldn't see it clearly enough; we went by too fast after I spotted it.” He merged back onto the freeway heading back the way they'd come.

“It's not necessary to--”

“There it is!” He pointed out the window on his side. “See! Told you!”

“Holy shit,” Scully murmured as she turned to watch the giant blunt head disappear behind a stand of trees. “What the hell was that, Mulder?”

“Let's go find out!”

***

Two hours later they left Dinosaur World, Mulder with a new cap perched on his head and Scully carrying the bag containing the t-shirt he'd insisted on buying her in the gift shop. “Those were some of the saddest dinosaur statues I've ever seen,” she was saying as they headed for the car. “The brachiosaurs' heads were shapeless, and did you see the eyes on the triceratops? Thing looked like it was stoned.”

“I was too busy watching the kids' reactions,” Mulder smiled down at her. “Especially that one little boy who was terrified of the T-Rex head until his big brother took him up there to touch it.”

He was relieved to see that she smiled. They rarely discussed her infertility or Emily, but he knew that sometimes seeing children reminded her of either or both. He was glad that this hadn't made her morose. “Yeah, it was fun watching the kids but we are on a case, Mulder,” she reminded him. “Please tell me you're not going to try and write this off on our expense report.”

“Nah, my treat. Including lunch.”

“Which wasn't bad for an amusement park,” she admitted as they climbed into the Jeep. “It was certainly better than the spinosaurus with the accordion neck.”

Mulder laughed as they pulled out. “The kids love it, and that's what matters.”

She gave him a knowing look as they paused at a stop sign. “Especially the big kids.”

He tossed her another grin. “And their best friends who indulge them.”

Smiling back, she reached under her seat and pulled the file out. “Can we get back to work?”

He sighed, acting put-upon but having thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon and unable to hide it. “If you insist, killjoy.”

VIII

When they returned to the resort near dark Scully would rather have been raked over a bed of hot coals than admit what a good time she'd had with Mulder that day. Though they hadn't gotten as much work done on the case as she'd have liked, their “day off”, as she thought of it, did serve one important purpose, she soon found out.

“Oh, we had a great time!” she told the waitress at the hotel restaurant when she asked what they'd done that day. Apparently they were minor celebrities at the resort thanks to Mulder’s antics and bragging, she inferred with some chagrin that she had to keep hidden. “I don't know what was more fun, Dinosaur World or hiking Miner State Park and seeing Bat Cave! It was so cool, looking up and seeing the bats hanging from the ceiling. And the stalactites and stalagmites everywhere were just beautiful, weren't they, honey?”

Mulder, hidden behind a menu most likely so he wouldn't start howling and break their cover, just nodded. 

The late-middle-aged waitress, whose name tag read Lovey, smiled condescendingly down at her. “Glad that Travis pointed y'all that way; I'll tell him how much fun y'all had,” she drawled. “Maybe tomorrow y'all can go to 'Kentucky Down Under', I hear they gots some nice caves there too an' it ain't far. Let me go getcher drinks and I'll be back to take your order in a minute.”

Scully barely held onto her own laughter until the waitress was far enough away to not hear her, then put her head down on the table in her folded arms and took deep breaths to calm herself. 

“Jesus, I had no idea you were such a good actress,” her partner said, peeking over the menu at her. “Where'd you get that persona from?”

“My Aunt Agnes, although I don't quite do her justice,” she admitted, lifting her head and reaching for her glass of water. “She was Missy's godmother and lived in San Diego so we saw a lot of her when we were young, before we moved East. She never shut up, but she had the proverbial heart of gold and there wasn't a thing she wouldn't do for you.”

“Works for this situation,” he said, still smiling over at her. 

“Don't know how often I can do it, though, without going into diabetic shock,” she said drily as the waitress headed for their table again, a round tray of drinks in her hands. After she'd left with their orders Scully added, “But it seems to be working. I'm sure no one suspects a thing about us.”

“Nor will they after I get done with the bed tonight,” he leered over at her. “Sure you don't want to join me?”

This was more like it, she thought. Whatever had been bothering him this morning seemed to have passed, to her relief. “Do I have to remind you about my handcuffs?” she said with a huffed sigh, taking a sip of her merlot. “And if you start with that kinky stuff again I'll have you know that I only use fur-lined ones--and I left them at home.”

The look on his face was priceless, just priceless. It wasn't often that she could get him speechless and she enjoyed every moment, smiling brightly across the table at his slack-jawed face. It wasn't until much later that she remembered the old proverb that revenge is a dish best served cold.

IX

The local farmer's market opened at noon on Saturday and Mulder made sure that they were there shortly afterward. He insisted that Scully wear the t-shirt he'd gotten her and despite vocal misgivings she did, but had to admit that they matched like the honeymooners they were supposed to be with his bright green Dinosaur World cap. At least she'd insisted on a less garish t-shirt then he'd been looking at; though it was the same noxious color as his cap, it was a women's baby-doll cut and only had a small, embroidered T-Rex head on the upper right breast.

Still, he thought as he trotted behind her catching up after he'd stopped to look at a display of hand-carved walking sticks, it certainly fit her well as did the faded jeans she was wearing. It was all he could do to keep his hands off of her; it was difficult not to put his arm around that slender waist or want to brush a hand over that curvy ass. She'd put up with it to keep their cover, he knew, but would he hear it when they were alone? He would indeed, and the jury was still out on whether or not it was worth it.

But he could, and did, sling an arm loosely around her shoulders as they walked. She didn't reciprocate but stayed relaxed beneath his arm, which was half the battle. It was a warm morning so he didn't pull her against his side but he did rub her upper arm and shoulder lightly, about all he figured he could get away with at the moment. The evening before she'd been rather remote when they'd gone to the room for the evening, burying herself in a novel while sitting in the window seat and staying up past when he got tired enough to lay down. It had sucked because he'd had to stay on his side of the bed and once again she was already up when he woke.

Scully stepped over to the side of a booth busily selling hollowed-out gourds carved into amusing faces, stopped, and said in a low voice, “There she is. Doesn’t look like business is exactly booming for her, does it?”

The attractive but washed-out young blonde who had been their guide on the advanced tour was sitting in a rickety-looking wooden folding chair behind a U-shaped trio of cheap auditorium tables, a ratty, dirt-splattered blue tarp suspended from a series of rusty poles dug into the ground above her as a sunshade. Bundles of what he guessed were dried herbs hung from the edges of the tarp while the tables were covered with produce: tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, onions, jars of what looked to be home-canned pickles and smaller ones of jellies or jams, and bunches of leafy vegetables that he couldn’t identify. She looked rather sad and lonely, he thought, sitting and dejectedly reading a battered old paperback. Unlike most of the others, however, she was dressed in a nice green-patterned pullover shirt and clean dark blue jeans whereas the majority of vendors seemed to have just crawled out of their gardens, basements, attics, or from beneath a long-abandoned car. Just behind the front table he could see a dog at her feet, a large bundle of grey and white fur although he couldn’t make out much else about the animal. 

Though people thronged the open-air flea and farmer’s market, which was setup in the large weedy lot of what appeared to be a long-defunct drive-in movie theater without the screen or concession stand but still containing the speaker posts, no one was anywhere near Lucy Burley’s booth. Her tables also appeared full unlike many of the other vendors’ booths, most of which seemed to be being rapidly depleted.

“No, it seems that she’s being ignored or shunned,” Mulder observed quietly, leaning over to murmur into her ear. “Looks sad, doesn’t she?”

Scully nodded. “We should go talk to her, but I don’t really want to buy anything; what are we going to do with a bunch of radishes or a bag of cilantro?”

He wasn’t sure what cilantro was and decided to let it pass. For now. “We can give away whatever we buy, I’m sure that someone will want it,” he pointed out. “I can’t think of any other way to strike up a conversation with her.”

“Me too,” Scully agreed. “Okay, Mister Fox, lead on.”

He glanced down at her to see a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth and for one timeless moment he damn near leaned down and kissed her; it was all he could do to resist the impulse. Those impulses had been getting stronger and coming more often lately. He only hoped that when he snapped and actually did it they weren’t in public in case she popped him with that right hook again.

“Mulder? You all right?”

He shook himself mentally and gave her shoulders a light squeeze. “Yeah. Come on, Mrs. Fox, let’s get it on.”

As they headed for Lucy Burley’s booth Mulder was surprised to feel Scully’s arm go around his waist and her fingers hook in one of the back belt loops of his jeans. He wanted to look down at her but was afraid it would break their cover if he looked shocked that his “wife” was putting her arm around him. Besides which it was just fine with him that the side of her breast was now brushing against his side. 

“Oh, what a pretty dog!” Scully exclaimed as they neared the table, peering beneath the one Lucy sat behind. “What kind is he or she?”

Trust her, Mulder thought as he let go of her shoulders, to find a surefire way to engage a person in conversation. 

“Oh—hi there. He’s a purebred Bearded Collie,” the young woman said, setting her open book face-down on the table in front of her while reaching down to pet the dog’s head as it lifted. “I always wanted one and saved up to buy him from a breeder.”

Scully crouched down in front of the table as the dog stood up. “Is he friendly?” she asked. 

“He sure is, I made sure of that; he’s got his Canine Good Citizenship certificate,” Lucy said with a small smile as she waved a hand in Scully’s direction. “Go ’head, Bo, go say hi to the lady.”

The dog rose, shook itself, and padded forward, panting. To Mulder it looked like a grey and white mop, although large enough that its back came to the edge of Lucy’s chair. “Isn’t this the breed of dog they used in the Shaggy Dog movies?” Scully said, the dog’s long, fringed tail waving gently as she petted it. 

“Yeah, that’s one reason why I wanted one,” Lucy said, standing. “Hey, weren’t ya’ll on one of my tours t’other day?”

“Yeah, that’s us, Mueller and Sally Fox from Virginia,” Mulder introduced them, leaning over and taking a turn at petting the longhaired dog as Scully stood upright again. “You’re Lucy, right?”

“Yep, Lucy Burley,” she said in her soft singsong accent, smiling at them as Bo turned and padded back to his spot at her feet in the shade and sat, panting lightly. “How long y’all staying? I heard y’all are at the Arms.”

“Until next Friday for sure, maybe longer depending on if I can keep work off my back for a few more days,” Scully said, and he was relieved to see that she thought to use and remembered the details of their cover story. They hadn’t had much chance to use it yet. 

“Wow, what do you do for a living?” Lucy asked, standing up and stretching slightly. “You a lawyer or doctor or somethin’?”

“I wish,” Scully grinned. “I’m a computer tech, and my handsome husband here is a programmer. That’s how we met, at work.”

Mulder smiled and put his arm around her, gave her shoulders a squeeze, then began looking over the produce on the table. “Sally and I are city folk, both of us born and raised in cities, so can you tell me what this stuff is?”

Scully none-too-gently poked him in the side with her elbow. “I know what most of this is,” she said with fond exasperation. “I do all the cooking, don’t I?”

“Hey, I make a mean chili!” he protested. “Okay, then, what’s that?” he pointed to a clear plastic bag full of some type of leafy greens.

“Parsley,” she retorted, and then pointed to more of the bags lined up along the table. “That’s oregano, basil, rosemary, and chives.”

“Got some dried hanging up there, too,” Lucy pointed up to the bundles of what looked like brown sticks and dried leaves to Mulder. 

“I wish we weren’t on vacation and I could buy some of your fresh produce,” Scully said, slipping out from beneath his arm and wandering along the table. “And these tomatoes! They’re Heirloom Beefsteak, am I right?”

Lucy moved over to where Scully was and they began discussing the fruit across the table, leaving Mulder to his own devices. His job was done, he thought, by making the amusing banter that had relaxed the young woman around them. Then he tuned back in when he heard Scully say, “Why isn’t your stuff selling? Your table’s still mostly full.”

He could almost see the shutters come down over her face. “Dunno,” she said shortly, moving away from Scully and going back to her chair, lifting the paperback out of it. “Wouldn’t mind none if you bought somethin’, seeing as how’s you’ve noticed that I ain’t selling nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Scully said, following along on the other side of the table. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I just wondered what was wrong with these people seeing as how you’ve got the best looking produce in the whole place.”

The girl seemed to soften a little. “Don’t I know it. I grow everything organic too, jes’ like my grammy taught me. I use oil and dishsoap to chase off earwigs and ants, and beer in saucers to catch slugs and tomato bugs,” she said. Mulder had no idea what in the hell she was talking about but nodded understandingly anyway. “I been havin’ to can most of what I grow cause it ain’t selling. Dunno what their damn problem is.” The last was said with a sullen glare around the market.

Scully had picked up one of the jars and was looking at it. “’Rosehip jelly,’” she read off the label. “I’ve never heard of this. What’s it taste like?”

“Kinda like grape jelly but with more of a bite, I guess you’d say,” the younger woman replied, unable to hide the hopeful look that caused Mulder to feel a pang of sadness for her. She was clearly among the victims in this case, not the bad guy. “It’s got grape and apple juice in it, but the rose hips give it a really good, unique flavor.”

“I’ll get a jar of this, and a bunch of your dried lavender—that’ll have my suitcase smelling nice by the time I get home,” Scully said, smiling at Lucy as she handed over the small canning jar. “How much?”

Mulder moved away a little bit as Scully paid the girl, pretending to eyeball the display of homemade hard candies at the next booth. When she joined him, he had her pick out a bag of candy, having decided that it might look funny if they only bought something from Lucy’s booth, and then urged her out of there.

The drive back to the resort was only five minutes so Mulder headed out of town while sharing his theories. “That girl, and the townspeople, know something is wrong with her,” he told his partner as they meandered along a twisting dirt country road. “Why else wouldn’t they be buying her stuff? And they must be warning away tourists as well although no one bothered to tell us. We’ve got to figure out a way to watch her, Scully, and see what’s going on.”

“I don’t see how we can do that, Mulder, without blowing our cover,” Scully said, turning slightly in her seat to face him as he turned onto a narrow two-lane paved highway that curved its way around a series of rolling hills. “Unless we make friends with her, or figure out another way to hang out with her. But what in the hell do we have in common with a twenty-year-old country girl?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll have to find something.” His voice trailed off as he looked around. “Hey, Scully, do you have any idea where we are? Cause I don’t.”

X

Later that evening they were sitting at the hotel bar having late drinks when they overheard the bartender talking to one of the other patrons sitting nearby. “Yeah, he ran right out in the street and got himself hit by the Pepsi truck that’d just left here,” the young man was telling a nicely-dressed elderly woman sitting two stools away from Scully. She guessed that the other woman, despite her dress, was also a local by the familiar way he spoke to her. “And doncha know it, he bought some ‘maters from you-know-who at the farmer’s market this afternoon. That’s what he gets for not listenin’.”

She nudged Mulder with her elbow to drag his attention away from the TV where a baseball game was playing, then called over to them, “Did I hear you say that someone was killed…? Anyone we’d know from the hotel?”

“No, ma’am, sorry to have bothered you.” The tall, thin-faced bartender walked down to them. “Was a local got hit by a delivery truck on the main street just a couple-a hours ago. Surprised you didn’t see the ambulance or nothing.”

“We just got back a little while ago,” she said. “My husband got us a little bit lost this afternoon,” she added, turning to give Mulder a brief glare that was not playacting. “I heard you say that someone just walked right out in front of a truck? Does that happen often around here?”

“Gee, no, ma’am.” He gave her a lopsided grin but Scully could read no humor in it. “Freak accident best as we can tell. We think he saw his dog runnin’ loose and ran into the street after it, or sumpthin’ like that. Sorry you heard bout it, don’t let it ruin your nice vacation. Can I get you another white wine?”

“One of my, um, hobbies is kind of macabre,” Scully improvised on the spot, curling her hands around the stem of her mostly-full wineglass. “I’m fascinated with freak accidents, the occult, curses, things of that nature. I got the idea that there might be something like that going on from what I heard you saying…?”

“It’s not outside the realm of possibility,” the older woman sitting down the bar said clearly. To Scully’s surprise she appeared to have a clear New England accent, so much unlike the vaguely Southern drawl of the locals that it was like a blast of icy air in a muggy room. The woman’s voice reminded her strongly of the murdered daycare owner from the non-case in Maine she’d dealt with a couple of years before. “It does seem that everyone who—“

“Mrs. MacMurry, I do believe you’ve had enough,” the young bartender said almost desperately, stepping over to her and shaking his head almost wildly. “Now, please don’t you get started with your wild stories to these nice people who are here on vac—”

“Young Master Reeves, I am in full charge of my facilities—one lone Bushmill’s and water would not get me drunk enough to speak out of turn,” she said frostily, glaring at him with a look that could cut glass. “I’ll thank you to stay out of my conversation with these nice people.”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Scully said quickly. “I let curiosity get the better of me.”

“I do believe introductions are in order,”’ the older woman said, moving over a couple of stools to sit only one over from Scully and holding out a slender, liver-spotted hand. “Abigail MacMurry, owner of this town’s one and only quilting and sewing supply shop. You wouldn’t happen to be a quilter, Miss…?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Sally, Sally Fox, and this is my husband Mueller,” she said, lightly shaking the other woman’s thin, papery hand. Normally Scully had strong, no-nonsense handshake, but she was half-afraid of crushing the old woman’s brittle-looking fingers. “We’re both interested in the occult, though I tend to delve into stranger things than Mueller,” she said. “But if there’s nothing unusual about this death, say a ghost pushing him into the street, then I’m not that interested.”

“Oh, nothing so mundane!” The older woman sat back on her stool and picked up her rock glass which still held a quarter-inch or so of pale amber liquid and a couple of half-melted ice cubes. The bartender had moved further down the bar, but not so far away that he couldn’t overhear them while pretending to watch the game on a large color TV suspended over the backdrop, Scully noted. “We—most of the town and I—believe that there is a problem with one of the young women in this area. You may have met her—Lucy Burley?”

“Yes, the tour guide,” Mulder chimed in. “And we bought some, I believe it was, rose hip butter from her this afternoon at the market.”

“Rose hip jelly,” Scully hissed over her shoulder at him while mentally congratulating him on the misdirection. It was little things like that which made their cover all that much more realistic. 

“Oh dear, oh dear dear dear,” the old lady said, sitting up straight and staring over at them. “Did you say that you got lost this afternoon?”

Scully frowned. “Yes, why?”

“Because anyone who does business with Lucy Burley has bad luck, misfortune, sometimes death,” she intoned solemnly. “No one quite knows what it is about her, no one’s ever caught her actually doing anything, and hopefully that will be your only bad luck. Hopefully.”

“Well, normally I would chalk up getting lost to my husband’s refusal to ask for directions,” Scully said, which was the partial truth. “But if what you say is true that might have been it. We haven’t had a single problem on this trip until now.”

“Then perhaps you’ll be luckier than our Mister Williams who, for no apparent reason, ran out into the street and directly in front of a Pepsi delivery truck,” she said. “He bought a bag of tomatoes from her at the farmer’s market earlier today, I understand.”

Scully shuddered, not completely acting, from the woman’s cold description of sudden death. “But how do you know it’s her?”

“It runs in her family, dearie. We had the same problem with her grandmother, although the curse seems to have skipped her father, perhaps because he was male, or because he wasn’t a businessman,” she said thoughtfully. “When I came to this town in nineteen-sixty-eight I was warned never to do business with Marie Burley or her family, and I never have. Although, I do have to admit, it doesn’t seem to happen every single time—just often enough to not be a coincidence.” The older woman downed what was left in her glass, then set it on the bar top with a faint clinking of the remaining ice cubes. “Well, I shall toddle along; the morning comes far too early and I have to be up with the cock’s crow. It was nice talking to you young people and if you need anything along the lines of sewing geegaws or sundry items before you leave our fair town, you know where to come.”

They watched, bemused, as the older woman left the bar with a long, sure stride, her back as straight as a Catholic nun’s. “Wow, Sally, she’s really something,” Mulder said. “You ready to head back to our room?”

Scully took a final sip of the lukewarm, cheap white wine and repressed a shudder. “Sure.”

XI

“That was damn brilliant, Scully, telling that old lady that we’re into the occult,” Mulder said excitedly as soon as their room door closed behind them. “Tomorrow why don’t we head down to the library or Hall of Records and see if we can research her family, especially the grandmother?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Scully said tiredly, sitting in one of the desk chairs and kicking off her dusty white deck shoes. “For now, I think I’m going to read for a bit and then hit the sack. Driving around southeastern Kentucky for hours wore me out.”

Mulder automatically went on the defensive. “Look, how many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry? I didn’t—“

“Jesus, give it up! I wasn’t bitching,” she snapped back, getting her pajamas out of her suitcase; they still hadn’t taken the time to unpack. “I was just stating fact, that I’m tired.”

“Then leave the getting lost out of it from now on,” he snarled. The only good thing about the bad day they’d had was that his simmering desire for her was now completely gone—at least for the time being. As she went into the bathroom he added, “And hurry up, I want to change and have a soak.”

The door slamming in his face was the only answer and Mulder quickly realized that perhaps letting her know that he wanted to get in there anytime soon had been a mistake of monumental proportions, especially when he also had to use the bathroom for the purpose for which it had been designed.

***

The next morning when they left the room they were still sore at each other but, although they hadn’t talked about it, Scully thought they might have buried the hatchet enough to keep pretending to be a loving, newly married couple. As they began down the hall a pair of young maids came around the corner and instead of giggling and blushing, this time they both looked solemnly at the older couple and nodded in a quiet manner. Once they were out of earshot Mulder leaned over and said, low, “What do you think that was all about? Yesterday they thought we were the funniest thing they’d ever seen.”

“Maybe they’re mourning the death of the man that was killed yesterday,” Scully grumbled, annoyed that he was paying attention to the cute little maids in their tight uniforms. “Who knows? Is it important?”

“Jesus, what crawled up your ass and died?” he muttered, standing up straight again. “You’re not exactly helping here, Scul—er, Sally.”

“I didn’t start it, Mueller,” she gritted out as they entered the hotel restaurant and were immediately waved to an empty booth by the hostess standing near the bar where they’d sat the night before, which was just on the other side of a waist-high room divider. “And no one ever said I had to be nice on this assign—honeymoon.”

“Wouldn’t hurt,” he grumbled, opening a menu and hiding behind it.

Chickenshit, Scully thought.

They were sullenly quiet until after their orders were taken, then Scully heaved a sigh, looking around to make sure that no one was in earshot. “All right, Mulder, what is going on with you?”

“Me? Me?! You’re the one being a raging bitch!” he snapped, but kept his voice low. “I didn’t deliberately get us lost, you know. It was an honest mistake.”

“Christ, you think I’m still angry about that?” she said with exasperation. “I’m done with that, have been since we got back here. I’m annoyed because you’ve been acting like a sulking child.”

“Because you’ve been pissy with me since yesterday afternoon,” he hissed back. 

“Then how about we just let it go like two adults instead of acting like children?” she said, thoroughly sick and tired of his attitude and knowing that this was the only way to put a stop to it. “I will if you will.”

Mulder heaved a sigh as well, rubbing his face with one hand. “All right. Fair enough. So you interested in my idea about going to the library or Hall of Records if they have one?”

They paused while coffee and small glasses of ice water were delivered by a solemn-faced waitress. 

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan,” Scully agreed, reaching for the tiny creamer cups while Mulder added a few ice cubes from a glass of ice water to his black coffee. The rest of the meal passed in a comfortable near-silence, the equilibrium of their partnership mostly restored and all about as right in their world as it got.

XII

 

“Oh my God, I think I found it,” Mulder said excitedly, elbowing Scully none-too-gently in the side. “Look at this!”

She leaned over against his shoulder and peered at the dusty old newspaper he held sideways towards her. Though the light could have been better, she was able to read the bold-print front page headline: 

BROU-HA-HA AT MAIN STREET MARKET; TWO FOUND AT FAULT  
By Paul Brandy, local to the Smuggler’s Cave Star-Times  
Yesterday afternoon an argument at Able’s Market turned ugly when Mrs. Ronald Burley and Mrs. Joseph Dickley began swinging purses at each other’s heads right in front of this reporter. According to Mrs. Burley, Mrs. Dickley “owed her money” for a rooster that had changed hands earlier in the week. Mrs. Dickley swears that the rooster was a gift and she refuses to “return it to that Indian giver”. 

“You mark my words,” Mrs. Burley swore, “Anyone ever tries to cheat anyone in my family ever again, they’ll get what comes to swindlers and thieves. I curse the person that tries it again!”

This reporter moved out of the way and let law enforcement take over when the handbags began flying. Sheriff Oates removed both ladies to the station and released them on their own recognizance with promises to stay away from each other should they run into one another downtown again.

-0-

“So you think it’s a curse handed down from, what, 1966?” Scully said, peering at the date on the old newspaper in the light of the green-shaded overhead lamp. “How’d you figure it was then?”

“Mrs. MacMurray said that she came to town in 1968 and was warned not to do business with Lucy’s grandmother,” he explained, re-folding the faintly browned paper and inserting it gently back into the box on the table. Though dusty and stored in the basement of the local newspaper office (they’d been told that the weekly Star-Times had gone defunct in 1981 and now the conglomerate-owned Green Share was their local paper), the old back issues were kept in cardboard file boxes and clearly labeled. “I was hoping the incident of the curse had happened around that time since there was no mention of it happening before that generation.”

“So you think there’s a curse that’s acting on anyone who cheats Lucy?” Scully asked, getting up from the dusty old table they were sitting at even as Mulder did. She was relieved that he had found what he was looking for; there was a bright ray of dust-mottled sunlight beaming down the stairwell from an open doorway at the other end of the long, dank basement and it looked to be another beautiful day out there which was going totally to waste. 

Scully, thinking that they’d leave by going around the long end of the table, which was closer to the stairwell, turned left as she got up. Mulder, who had one hand on the dusty paper box and was about to put it back where he’d gotten it from, turned right and so they met in the middle between their chairs. Scully, who was again wearing tennis shoes, bounced off his firm body and stumbled back, glaring up at him. “Jesus, Mulder, why don’t you loo—“

Her voice was cut off as his mouth descended onto hers without warning. Though similar to the sweet little New Year’s kiss he’d gifted her with a few months back, there was something more sexually charged in this one and she noticed it right away. Then she felt the firm touch of his tongue swiping her lips and without thinking about it, still reeling from the fact that he was kissing her so unexpectedly, she opened her mouth to him. The next thing she knew she was kissing him back just as eagerly; they were wrapped in each other’s arms and Mulder had her back against one of the tall, dusty metal racks filled with boxes, holding her strongly but not roughly as they passionately kissed each other breathless. Then his warm, firm lips were lifting away from hers as both of their eyes opened.

“You know, I should say I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, but I can’t,” he said huskily, gazing down into her eyes. “I knew exactly what I was doing and why. I just couldn’t resist any longer, I’ve wanted to kiss you again for a long, long time.”

Though she knew she should push him away Scully wanted to feel his strong, lean body against hers for just a few moments more and left her arms twined around his shoulders. It had been so long since she’d felt a man this close that it was both strange and familiar at the same time—and the fact that it was Mulder took those feelings to a whole new level. “And to be equally as honest, I can’t say I minded though we both know that we shouldn’t be doing this,” she said reluctantly, looking back up at him although she wanted to avert her eyes from the clear desire in his that was like a flame to her moth. God, how she loved him! “But we don’t dare take this any further right now, Mulder. You know that and I know that.”

He heaved a sigh that rubbed her already-sensitive breasts against his chest, causing frissons of pleasure to radiate out from them, and rested his forehead against hers. “Will it ever be our time, Scully, do you think?”

She nodded. “I think it will be, eventually. Hopefully before we begin collecting our social security checks.”

Mulder lifted his head and smiled down at her, causing a jolt in her belly which she refused to analyze. “One more for the road?” he questioned softly, cocking his head to the side.

“Why not?” Scully smiled back, then let her eyes fall shut as his mouth descended on hers again. This kiss was far less desperate but just as passionate, full of slowly simmering desire and promise. He lifted one hand to cup her jaw, and she moved one in return to curl around his neck just below his soft, short-cropped hair, scraping her nails lightly on his skin and feeling the shiver it caused in him. He kissed her like she was the sum of all his hopes and dreams, the only woman he ever desired, and not only did she she feel it, she did her best to return the sentiment. The kiss was long and slow and warm and wet, no rush, two people pledging their feelings to each other without a word being spoken. When it was over they moved away reluctantly, not looking at each other, and she gave his bare upper arm one last longing caress before letting go.

They climbed up into the sunlight distracted, both thinking of what could be but would not happen today… and might transpire Heaven only knew when.

XIII

“Let’s go talk to Lucy, tell her what we found,” Mulder said as they walked hand-in-hand back along Smuggler’s Cave’s mostly empty streets towards the resort. It was such a nice day that it had seemed almost criminal to drive the half-mile or so to the newspaper office. “Isn’t she at the tour office today?”

They had managed to get a look at the tour guides’ schedules on the day they’d taken theirs. “I think so. I really don’t want to do another cave tour but let’s hit the gift shop there and see if she’s around.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, Mrs. Fox,” he said and though she was looking the other way and couldn’t see his face, she knew he was grinning. The tension between them, whether it was sexual or personal, seemed to be gone for the time being, to her relief.

When they entered the tour office/gift shop they separated, unobtrusively looking for Lucy before quickly realizing that the long, narrow store was empty of other customers or workers other than the man behind the main counter who was sorting magazines. Mulder went over to the brochure rack while Scully checked the schedule, seeing that there was a tour out but it wasn’t Lucy’s. She was scheduled to lead a hard-hat tour when the present one returned in about half an hour, and Scully didn’t look forward to hanging around the store until then but wasn’t sure what else to do.

She noticed a display near the back of the store and wandered over that way. It was medium-sized round table with a leaf-patterned tablecloth scattered with lifelike, autumn-colored oak leaves and acorns which featured a sizeable stuffed coyote standing on a large piece of driftwood. Around it was a variety of single-use cameras, canteens, rain ponchos, water bottles, insect repellant, and other hiking equipment with a few hand-carved walking sticks leaning against it, price tags prominently displayed. It was very eye-catching and artistically done, unlike most of the other rather tacky displays in the store. There were two small cards on the table and Scully leaned closer to read the first one: ‘Common North American Coyote (canis latrans) shot by Bill Marple July 1997/Mount by Binder’s Taxidermy, Elizabethtown KY.’ The second, smaller one behind the coyote read: ‘Display designed by Lucy Burley, Smuggler’s Cove KY.’

That was odd, she thought as she straightened up. Who got credit for designing a store display if they weren’t a professional interior designer? Unless that was what she was trying to get a job doing, she thought. It was well-done enough to be professionally designed, Scully had to admit. She’d have to ask Lucy about it after they told her about her grandmother’s bizarre ‘curse’.

As she was heading back to where Mulder was standing the bell over the door rang and a tall woman in a long black dress and bonnet came in carrying a medium-sized cardboard box that, by the printing on its outside, had once held bags of frozen O’Brien potatoes but was now clearly much lighter. She took it to the front counter where she was greeted in a friendly manner by the clerk there, and began lifting small newspaper-wrapped bundles out of the box. Scully watched unobtrusively as she pretended to look over a rack of zodiac keychains as they unwrapped each small bundle to reveal hand-thrown and fired clay vases and pots, most about the size of a closed fist but some smaller and one or two larger. When the box appeared to be empty there were more than a dozen lined up on the counter and the two began to haggle over them.

Scully glanced around the shop and noted a mostly-empty glass shelf over a display of folded t-shirts that held a couple of similar pots and realized that the woman, obviously Amish, was a vendor who sold her homemade wares here. She glanced up as Mulder joined her, fingering an Aquarius keychain, and said low, “Lucy’s coming up the street, let’s wait until she leaves before talking to her.” He tilted his head briefly in the direction of the front counter.

“She’s got half an hour before her tour,” Scully said in a similar voice. “We should have enough time. Did you see that display at the back of the store? Lucy designed it, and it’s damn good.”

She stayed put while Mulder went over to check it out, and his eyebrows were raised when he returned. “You’re right, that’s fine work,” he agreed low. “I wonder, was she trying to branch out since she wasn’t selling much at the farmer’s market?”

Nodding, Scully turned from the keyring rack to a freestanding display of coffee mugs with supposedly witty sayings on them, though she found most of them either outright stupid or unbearably kitschy. But it was a few steps nearer to the door, and she wanted to catch Lucy as soon as she came in.

“Hey, Sally, I should get you this one,” Mulder said in a normal voice loud enough for the other two to hear, holding up a coffee mug that had ‘Kentucky is for Lovers’ emblazoned on the side in bright red with tiny pink hearts all around it.

“I thought Virginia was for lovers,” Scully countered, shaking her head. “Or does any state that wants it claim the slogan?”

Just then the bell dingled again and they both looked up to see Lucy walking into the store looking downcast and upset. But then she looked up and saw the Amish woman at the counter, who was pocketing a small roll of bills, and a smile wreathed her thin face. “Mary, did you bring new pots?” she said, apparently not noticing the couple nearby as she went over to the counter. They noted, however, that the clerk behind the counter moved away, leaving the two women there alone.

“I did, Miss Burley, and I have some of those brown ones you particularly like,” the tall Amish woman smiled down at the younger one. Unlike the townspeople it seemed like the religious sect, or at least this one person belonging to it, didn’t shun Lucy despite the suspected connection between she and the deaths of their members. As the two began to look over the pots Scully was just barely paying attention, mostly listening for their conversation to end so she and Mulder could intercept the young woman and tell her what they’d found in their guise of supernatural-loving newlyweds. She was certain that Mrs. MacMurray from the bar had spread word far and wide around the town and, most likely, Lucy had heard about their little hobby by now.

Just as it looked like Lucy and the Amish woman were wrapping up, the bell jangled sharply again but this time the door was thrown back against its stop, causing the upper window to shatter. Everyone in the store turned towards it but before anyone could react, the heavyset woman with disheveled hair standing in the doorway cried out, “There you are, you unlucky bitch! Was you who killed my Frank and it’ll never happen again!”

The loud blast of the shotgun she held was deafening in the confines of the long thin store and its echoes were dying away by the time either of the undercover federal agents recovered from their shock and went into motion. “Mulder, call an ambulance!” Scully cried, falling to her knees beside Lucy, who lay at the base of the counter and whose chest was now a red smoking hole. “Lucy, hang on, help’s coming!” She yanked a white t-shirt off of a nearby shelf as it was the closest material at hand and wadded it up against the wound, but blood continued to pour out from beneath it even as it soaked through and turned bright red. 

It was then that she realized that someone was screaming and looked up to see the Amish woman standing over them, arms crossed over her narrow chest and blood splattered across the front of her dress and partly on her face. “Would you shut up and give me another t-shirt?” Scully snapped, putting pressure on the sopping shirt-bandage even though she knew it was a lost cause. A shotgun slug at that distance had probably blown up Lucy’s heart the moment of impact. But when she looked down at the young woman, she was startled to see Lucy looking back at her with glazed eyes. The screaming finally lessened to where she could hear Mulder’s voice calling for help on his cell and that of the girl on the floor.

“Okay… it’s okay…” the young woman coughed, a freshet of bright red blood pouring from the side of her mouth. Scully saw that her teeth were red, meaning that most of what she choked up was going right back down. “Take… take care of… of Bo,” she managed to utter, and then her eyes slid shut and Scully knew that she was gone.

Mulder appeared kneeling next to her, reaching for Lucy’s head, probably to lift it into his lap. “Don’t bother, Mulder, she’s gone,” Scully said dispiritedly as she lifted her red hands from the blood-soaked t-shirt on Lucy’s chest and dangled them between her thighs. “She didn’t have a chance.”

In the distance they heard a siren warbling. “God damn it!” Mulder said forcefully. “The woman that shot her got away; I made the call and shut up that loudmouthed bitch instead of going after her.”

“I know her, it was Missus Williams!” the clerk behind the counter cried in a high-pitched, excited voice. “Shot her, she did! Shot that Lucy Burley dead right in front of us!”

“Would both of you shut up!” Scully yelled, sitting back on her haunches and glaring back and forth between the babbling clerk and the Amish woman, who was braying sobs around both hands clasped over her mouth which didn’t do as much to muffle the sound as she’d have wished. “Mulder, give me a shirt to wipe my hands off with.”

Now that the emergency was over Scully felt her calm professionalism slipping as it always did in the wake of a crisis. This was the time she had a hard time keeping the ice wall up and it was all that she could do not to let the tears slip for the wasted life laying in a pool of blood before her. She gazed down at Lucy’s peaceful face, hoping that she had, indeed, found a better place where she was not shunned and reviled for unknowingly being nothing more than her grandmother’s descendant.

XIV

It was an incongruously bright and sunny day when Lucy Burley was buried without fanfare at the tiny Smuggler’s Cave cemetery behind the Heart of Jesus Baptist Church on the outskirts of town. Mulder was disgusted to see that there were less than a dozen people in attendance including him and Scully. It was sickening considering that the girl had been born and raised in this town, he thought as the preacher droned on. She had no family left that they’d been able to find, but one would think that at least the people of the town would have had the courtesy to see one of their own into the ground. The singular good thing was that they’d found a home for her dog with Mrs. MacMurray who, they found out after asking around, had always admired the animal and was more than happy to take him.

He heaved a sigh, wishing he could hold Scully’s hand but they hadn’t been undercover since the police had arrived at the gift shop a few minutes after the shooting. Both had identified themselves as federal agents and showed their badges and IDs, and Mulder had taken a perverse delight in the look of shock on the clerk’s face. The staff at the resort hotel had been equally as stunned and often disbelieving.

One of the things he was having trouble coming to grips with was why Lucy had died. Though Scully didn’t agree, he knew that it was more than a grief-crazed wife with her late husband’s shotgun out for imagined revenge. Granny Burley’s curse had rebounded on Lucy and after some of digging he thought he’d figured out how it worked—and why on her.

Knowing that the curse was for revenge on anyone who cheated the Burley family Mulder researched the transactions of those people who had died after buying something from Lucy. In every case where possible he found that the deceased had been short on payment, sometimes as little as a penny or two but more than once a completely deferred payment until a later time. Lucy had been a sweet, trusting soul who, unlike most these days, didn’t automatically believe the worst of people, especially the Amish whom, it turned out, she admired. 

And any amount left owing appeared to be enough to trigger the curse even if it was agreed-upon and not an attempted cheat or theft. The fact that it had rebounded on Lucy had baffled Mulder until he talked to Mary Dietrich, the Amish woman who had been present when Lucy was killed. It had been only moments before her killer had burst in with the shotgun that Lucy had agreed to pay Mary later for the vase she was buying. The way Mulder figured it, the curse ‘saw’ that someone near Lucy was left owing money and that was all it took even though she should have been protected from it.

Scully, of course, differed. To listen to her, it was enough that the townspeople were saying that Lucy was at fault in Frank Williams’ death to swiftly drive his wife out of her mind, blame Lucy, and cause her to murder the young woman. Scully had no opinion still on the other murders that had taken place before they’d come to town and, giving up as he often did, Mulder let the matter lie without either of them changing their minds.

At least they’d have a closed case for Skinner, Mulder thought glumly as the few people around the grave began to line up to toss a handful of dirt on the coffin which had already been lowered into its permanent home in the earth. That was the only high point of this case… that and the kisses that he and Scully had shared in the basement of the newspaper office, he remembered, brightening a bit. Yes, at least something good had come from this trip.

When the funeral was over they headed back to the resort to finish packing and check out, having waited to do so since the ceremony was at nine a.m. and checkout was noon. They had spent the previous day interviewing anyone and everyone connected to the case, and talked the local police into releasing her body for early burial so they could attend her funeral before they had to leave. Mulder was in no rush to go and Scully seemed to be feeling the same way. Things between them might be changing, but he had no idea how much or how fast and was loathe to give up the closeness they’d shared on this case.

“So, Mulder, when is Skinner expecting us back?”

He turned to look down at his diminutive but lionhearted partner, who was still wearing casual clothes but in her preferred three inch heels, which she’d felt didn’t fit the persona of Sally Fox but were very much in character for Dana Scully. Pulling his attention back to the present he replied, “Knowing it’ll take us about twelve hours with stops to drive back to D.C. he said to drop off our report tomorrow afternoon and come in as usual on Thursday morning.”

“Works for me—at least that way we won’t have to hurry back and can take our time,” Scully said, giving him a close-mouthed smile that touched her eyes with a blue intensity that made him wonder what was on her mind. “It’s such a long drive that maybe we can stop overnight, what do you think?”

“It’d be on our dime,” Mulder warned. 

She shrugged one slender shoulder. “Fine by me. Of course… we could share a room and split the cost if you’re interested.”

Mulder felt his jaw drop, averted his eyes, and didn’t dare look at her. If she wasn’t proposing what he hoped she was proposing then he didn’t want her to see his reaction; he still liked to keep his cards close to the vest where their relationship was concerned. But he was certain that he’d made it clear where he wanted them to go and almost didn’t dare to hope that she was on the same page. “I’m fine with that,” he made a point of saying in a casual voice that belied his suddenly-racing pulse. “When we check in you’ll have to let me know if you want to get one bed or two.” He was nearly holding his breath awaiting her answer.

She didn’t make him wait long. “I think one bed should do us fine—we managed this time, didn’t we? Although since we’re no longer undercover I don’t think we need to have all the rules we did here.”

It was all he could do not to sweep her up in his arms and dance around the sidewalk with her; instead he kept walking calmly at her side. “Works for me. I’m not good with rules and regs anyway, as you well know.”’

As she so often did, Scully caught his double meaning. “As far as rules and regs go I think that we’re the best judges of how to interpret them in this case.”

For a rare occurrence in his life Mulder was speechless and had no idea how to respond to that sally so he just nodded, perhaps a bit enthusiastically. If he read her right, Scully was proposing that they spend the night in a motel, in the same room and same bed, with no FBI rules between them; just a man and a woman who wanted each other in the most basic and human of ways with nothing now stopping them. 

The fact that they loved each other was what made him look forward to it the most. 

Epilogue 

The Next Day   
The hotel wasn’t anywhere near as cheap as the ones that the FBI usually sprung for, though the fact that it was in the town of Charleston, West Virginia meant that it wasn’t exactly the Waldorf, either. But the Hampton Inn was just right for the couple ensconced there.

Mulder stretched, gently waking the woman curled at his side, her tousled red head resting on his shoulder. “Mmn, everything all right?” she blinked, tilting her face back to look at him sleepily.

“Never better,” he assured her, rolling onto his side and gathering her into his arms. “But I’m getting hungry. Wanna order some room service?”

Now fully awake, Scully stretched in his embrace, enjoying the feel of their bare bodies brushing against each other. Despite the past hours of lovemaking she was nowhere near used to feeling Mulder naked against her and reveled in it. “We have something here if you’re up to trying it,” she said.

“I’m up to trying all sorts of new things just recently,” he smiled at her. “Like in the last six hours or so.”

She couldn’t help grinning back despite the fact that he was being his usual smartass self. “Do you want something to eat or not?”

“If I wasn’t so damn hungry I’d have you instead,” he leered, still smiling. “But I need sustenance before I’m up for anything else. Again.”

“Then let me up and I’ll get it. We can even eat in bed if you promise not to make too much of a mess,” she said, leaning forward and rubbing her aquiline nose against his larger one. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that, at least here in bed with him, feminine wiles were the way to go. And she was finding that she still had hers even after such a long drought. 

Mulder turned his head and kissed her briefly, then slid his hand down her back and gently swatted her bare bottom. “Go get food, woman. Now.”

She raised the eyebrow, pretending annoyance. “You’re about to get the same response that you got when you tried that with me on our first undercover assignment, Mulder. Do you really want that?”

His boyish grin melted her heart but she didn’t let him see that. “C’mon, Scully, don’t be mean,” he wheedled, also changing his tactics. “I’m really hungry. I think we’ve earned some food.”

It was the ‘we’ that saved him. “Okay, then, let go of me so I can get up,” she said, wriggling out of his embrace. She immediately missed the feel of his bare skin against hers but snagged his black t-shirt and pulled it on against the coolness of the air-conditioned room, and being surrounded by his scent made the absence bearable.

Scully was aware of his eyes on her as she dug into her suitcase then her overnight bag where she’d stashed a few things at their last rest stop. She made one sojourn into the bathroom to grab a bath towel, and then crawled back into bed with him. Mulder had mounded the pillows up against the headboard and was lounging there waiting for her. She handed him a pint canning jar and his eyebrows went up even as realization dawned over his face. He turned the jar over in his hands, running his thumb over the handwritten label, murmuring, “Lucy’s rose hip jelly. We’re going to try it?”

“Sure, why not? I planned to when I got it, I’ve never had it before and I’m intrigued,” Scully said as she handed him a small paper plate and plastic knife, keeping one of each for herself, then spreading the towel over their laps. “Go ahead, open it.”

While he did so she opened a bag of pumpkin bread slices that she’d gotten at a Starbucks earlier, setting a piece on each of their plates. Mulder took it upon himself to spread the jelly lightly on both pieces, and then set the jar and knives aside on the nightstand.

They took a bite at the same time, watching each other’s reaction. Scully’s brows rose, while Mulder frowned a little. “Not bad, but I have to say it’s not my cup of tea,” Mulder finally admitted, though he inhaled the piece of pumpkin bread in less time than it took to say it. 

“I rather like it,” Scully said, savoring the small bite she’d taken. The rose hip jelly had a surprisingly dark, smoky taste with overtones of grape and apple. It went well with the pumpkin bread and she thought it would be particularly good on zucchini or banana bread as well. The flavor reminded her a little of prunes but without the slimy aftertaste. Overall she liked it. “If you don’t want any more then I’ll keep it, I know I’ll use it. Be a special treat for Sunday mornings after church.”

“Yeah, don’t want it to go to waste,” he said, reaching behind her to snag the bag of pumpkin bread she’d set on her side of the nightstand and taking another slice. “Lucy was certainly a talented person—I think we barely touched the tip of the iceberg, and what a damn shame she died so young.”

“Very true. She clearly wasn’t appreciated for who and what she was while she was alive,” Scully agreed. “This jelly took a very fine hand to craft, that much I can tell. But I know she’s in a better place now, Mulder, even if you don’t believe. I’m sure she’s looking down on us and probably tickled that I like her jelly.”

He had already finished the second slice, she saw with no real surprise as she took the final bite of hers. “If she is, you’d better tell her to cover her eyes,” Mulder said, looking down at her intently as he gathered up the towel and its contents and tossed it on the floor on the side of the bed. “Because if she really is watching us she might not want to see this next part. I’ve had enough food for now, Scully.”

She felt a jolt in her belly at the intense look on his face; already she knew what that meant. As they came together all other thoughts were swept from her mind, although the life-changing events of their days in Smuggler’s Cave, Kentucky would never leave her memory for long.

 

finis


End file.
